Dark Bloom
by Xen Silver Quill
Summary: AU. "He won more than the pod that fateful night." Mandrake, OC. UPDATE: Discontinued.
1. Oleander

A/N: A little love for the Boggans - but mostly for Mandrake. :3

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim to own anything to do with the movie Epic (although I really wish I owned Mandrake's batpelt).

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1.) fluctuation

Rot and growth - the balance between the two had been shifting since time began. It was simply the way of things. A mirthless smile crossed his face as his fingers curled around the darkness-tainted pod. Yes, that had been the ways of things - but no longer.

2.) barbaric

She was born out of death and decay, the heart of the Rot itself. Gasping shrieks filled the chamber as she took her first breaths. When he extended a hand towards her small, slime-covered form, she sunk her tiny fangs into his palm, drawing black blood. The larvae suckled greedily from the wound as Mandrake curled her against his chest. "Yes, feed, my little darkling," he said softly. "Feed and become strong..."

3.) strong

She wrestled with the lizard as they tumbled over each other in the muck. "Gimme back my locust, you overgrown iguana!" Hacking at its soft belly with a poisoned-tipped knife, the reptile returned in kind with sharp-clawed swipes to Hemlock's gut and face. Her assailant pinned her against a stone, teeth going home for her throat- Ashes filled her mouth, and the young Boggan coughed the remnants of the lizard out of her lungs as she looked up to see her scowling father. "You will get nothing in this life unless you fight for it," he growled as he turned away. "And you will never win if you are weak."

4.) staff

Hemlock was scarcely five seasons old when her father took her out to a meadow on the edge of his kingdom. She watched with wide eyes and a gaping mouth as he felled an ancient oak with just a well-placed strike of his staff. The awe in her expression grew as he proceeded to Rot the entire field, vibrant green fading away to dull browns and grays in a matter of minutes. "Someday," he told her, leaning as the staff as kneeled to look her in the eye, "you will be able to do the same, my darkling, and I will teach you how. Would you like that?" A smirk spread across his face as she squealed her assent.

5.) blink

It seemed only yesterday that he was holding her pod, plans of conquest and revenge circling in his brain. The next she was leading her own contingent of warriors into battle for the first time, throwing her head back as she howled her triumph in the devastation of the night. A full moon - much like the one Hemlock had been born under - served as a fitting backdrop with its decaying, sallow color. Pride surged through him at the sight and had him howling with his daughter as the Rot spread about them.


	2. Castor

A/N: And here's chapter two! :D

If you would like leave a prompt and see it written in the next chapter, leave a word in your review and I'll see what I can write up for it. c:

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6.) apparition

The visions started one night after a raid on a rebel encampment. Her face and hands still red with the blood of the enemy, she dreamed of a Leafmen woman the color of green woodlands, loamy brown soil, and pale flowers. Hemlock's pulse quickened inexplicably at the sight of her. When she woke up drenched in a cold sweat, she hugged herself tightly, mumbling to herself that it was only a nightmare brought on by battle and fatigue. Only a nightmare...

7.) scream

It was not often that Mandrake argued with his daughter, but when the two came to a disagreement every Boggan within a few miles could hear their heated words. "Again, Hemlock!" he growled, mercilessly throwing blow after blow on her defenses with his staff. "Again!" "Can't you see I'm trying?!" she shouted back, parrying and flipping in a desperate attempt to ward off her father as they sparred. The Boggan chieftain only snorted disdainfully as he pushed her harder, putting nearly more force than she could handle. "I see a seasoned warrior fighting as if she were a nymph fresh from her larva skin! When Dagda was your age, he was never this-" That seemed to do the trick. He could see it in narrowed crimson eyes, could feel it in the renewed strength with which she began to fight back. Only in private would he admit regret for the angry tears it also brought to her face.

8.) mischief

Dusk fell, gracing the Rot-infested land with its beautiful shadows. The grackles' cawing died down even as the bats' screeching and leathery flapping filled the night air. Cackling and squabbling rose up from the warriors below as they went about on patrol and guard duty. Their leader stood over the pool of festering refuse, tending to the acidic poison within. Indeed, it was a typical evening for the Boggans- Frenzied shouting sounded from the direction of the grackle rookery. Mandrake looked up just in time to see a frazzled carrion bird flapping haphazardly into the night, a small giggling form clinging to the feathers of its back. With a sigh, he put aside his work and called for his own mount. He was beginning to regret having given her a bird of her own. _Hasn't had the buzzard for three days and she's already about to poke its gizzard out on a limb_, he muttered inwardly as he pursued after his errant charge.

9.) berserker

Sweet iron taste clung to her tongue, renewing as she lapped the blood from her fangs. The clatter of bones as she struck them together was a lullaby in her ears that did nothing to soothe the hunger in her belly. Only fresh meat could slake that voracious appetite. She buried her face in the still warm, newly dead flesh. Carnage was a lovely thing, indeed.

10.) tender

His was not a gentle or beautiful race. Born into the Rot from their first breath, Boggans were a race of stealers, marauders, and savages. Infighting was a common sight, and near mindless violence was second nature. Like wolves, they followed a pecking order in which every warrior knew his place. The strong ruled and the weak served, as was nature's way. Even their young battled amongst themselves and learned from their elders the harsh ways of the tribe. Yet never let it be said did not live, laugh, or even love as Leafmen or Stompers did. Often it was a hard life, a cruel laugh, or selfish love, but it was life and laughter and love all the same - he had only to look on his daughter to see as much.


	3. Moonseed

A/N: Enjoy this new chapter! (And remember, reviews are this author's bread and butter!)

Disclaimer: I do own _Epic_ or its characters therein. All rights go to Blue Sky Studios and Chris Wedge.

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11.) glutton

"Where does she put it all?" squeaked one mosquito guard. "That's her third 'hopper leg today!" His toad-like companion only shrugged in response. "Got the boss's appetite, I'm guessin'. Takes a lot after her sire, that one. Although, 'tween you and me, she could stand to eat a mite less, if the extra flab on her gut means anythi- GAH!" The mosquito snickered like a hyena when the other Boggan was hit squarely in the head with a flying piece of grasshopper carapace.

12.) dormant

Mandrake knew that she belonged to the darkness, wholly and completely. The Rot was strong in his daughter, her power second only to his own. Hemlock was loyal to her people and led them into battle with courage and ferocity. Still, there were times when she faltered - or he doubted - and the Boggan chieftain fancied he saw a flash of deep earthy brown in her gaze where there should have been red, and at the edge of his hearing he thought he heard a Leafwoman's bell-like laughter where his darkling's dark cackling should have been.

13.) déjà vu

"NO!" Loosing grip of her grackle, she barely registered her father's cry as she free fell towards the earth below. The wind whistling in her ears, Hemlock clutched at the shift embedded in her chest. She lifted her hand just enough to see black coating her palm and staining her tunic front. _Lucky bastard_, she thought with a touch of hysterical humor. _He got me with my own arrow... _Shadows closed around vision as the ground loomed into view.

14.) flutter

He glanced up when he heard a familiar _taptaptap_ of little footsteps through the hollow. "Da! Da! Look what I killed!" She ran in flapping her arms, dismembered and raggedy moth wings twice her size in her hands. The girl nearly got herself airborne with the effort, and he chuckled quietly as he ruffled her shock of brown hair. "If that is what you did to its wings," he said, "I am not so sure I want to see what you did with the rest of the poor blighter!"

15.) kidnapped

Roaring, all but the very rocks shook with his rage. He had no time to simmer in anger, though, and he clutched her small trembling form to him as he leapt onto the grackle. Blood - his and hers - lay spattered about on the ground and soaked into the crow's feathers. He would deal with the Leafmen scum who had abducted and wounded his child, but that had to wait for now. If anything happened to her - if there was any permanent damage - there would be no place in all the world that those guilty could hide.


End file.
